


Jealousy is a Green-Eyed Hunter (Part I)

by DeansDirtyLittleSecret



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drinking, Explicit Language, F/M, Jealous Dean Winchester, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:52:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyLittleSecret/pseuds/DeansDirtyLittleSecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine bringing someone home from the bar and Dean getting really jealous when he finds out the next day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy is a Green-Eyed Hunter (Part I)

It was completely out of character for you, sitting in a bar, drinking to make yourself feel better. You tended to stick close to home, or in this case, the motel, but you’d had a really bad day.

Dean had insisted you stay at the motel while he and Sam had gone to the cemetery to dig up the body of the vengeful spirit the three of you had been hunting, something about not wanting you to get hurt.  Which was, of course, bullshit. So, being your stubborn self, you’d gone anyway, sneaking out after they left and stealing a car to get there. And then you'd completely messed everything up. Now Sam was passed out in his and Dean’s motel room, recovering from the blow to the head he’d sustained when he’d been thrown into a headstone. If you hadn't gone to the cemetery, the ghost never would have grabbed you and tried to kill you in an effort to keep the Winchesters from salting and burning her bones and Sam wouldn't have gotten hurt.

Fortunately, Dean had managed to take care of said bones and of course, save the day, but he had spent the entire ride back to the motel chewing you out, succeeding in making you feel like shit. You’d practically ran to your room after he’d pulled the Impala into the parking lot, slamming the door on the sound of his continued yelling.

It hurt like hell to have Dean angry with you. You had a lot of respect for the eldest Winchester and you'd really felt like that respect was finally being returned, but now that was most likely going to come to a screeching halt. Not to mention, you'd been harboring a secret crush on Dean for months now, a crush that would never be reciprocated after the stunt you'd pulled.

You paced around your room for nearly two hours, a bundle of nervous energy, until you couldn’t stand it anymore. You finally grabbed your jacket and started walking, not even sure where you where were going. That was how you’d ended up in this crowded bar somewhere in the middle of town.  You slid into an empty booth and ordered a beer and it wasn’t long before you had to fend off a couple of advances from burly truckers looking for a date. By the time you started on your third beer, you were starting to feel a buzz and a couple of those guys sitting at the bar weren’t looking too bad. Especially the cute guy in the corner, the one wearing the Clark Kent glasses with the short brown hair.

The two of you made eye contact several times, each glance lingering just a little longer than the last. The third time he looked your way, you gestured to your table, silently inviting him to join you. He picked up his beer and made his way through the crowd to your table. He slid into the seat across from you, a smile on his face and introduced himself. You forgot his name almost immediately.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, returning his smile.

He was easygoing and easy on the eyes. Attractive, though certainly not Dean attractive, with short brown hair and blue eyes. Thank God they weren't green. But, he was cute and right now, you needed a distraction and he was proving to be a good one. You talked for a while, exchanging pleasantries and drinking. You were starting to feel pretty good, the alcohol loosening up your inhibitions. So despite that fact that you couldn’t remember your companion’s name - you couldn’t stop thinking of him as Clark Kent - and you were still pissed at Dean, you were actually having a good time.

Two hours, two or three more beers and several tequila shots later and you were wiggling your body against Clark Kent’s on the dance floor, his hands on your hips, the front of his body pressed against your back. He was kissing your neck and murmuring platitudes in your ear. Surprisingly, you were really enjoying yourself. In a drunk kind of way.  

Your phone vibrated in your back pocket, which was what it had been doing for the last hour. All of the text messages and phone calls were from Dean and they were coming in at a steady pace. You ignored them. If he wanted to yell at you some more, he’d just have to wait.

Clark Kent spun you around and captured your lips in a sloppy, tongue-filled kiss. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, tongue and all. He pulled your hips against his and started grinding against you, his kisses becoming more desperate.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured in your ear.

You hesitated, your brain in overdrive. You didn’t pick guys up in bars and you didn’t take strange men back to your motel room. But this was a day you just wanted to forget and maybe taking the cute guy from the bar  back to your room and having mind-blowing sex would help.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket again, less than five minutes after the last time. Enough was enough. You rolled your eyes and stepped away from Clark Kent, pulling your phone from your pocket.

“Hello?” you snapped.

“Y/N?” Dean growled. “Where the hell are you?”

“Out,” you answered sarcastically.

“Are you at a bar?” he asked. “I hear music. And people drinking.”

“Bullshit,” you mumbled. “You can’t hear that.”

“Yeah, I can,” Dean grumbled. “How come you haven’t answered your phone? I’ve been calling and texting.”

“I’ve been busy,” you giggled. Cute bar guy was running his hands up and down your waist and it tickled. You leaned into him and he wrapped his arms around your waist, the two of you swaying from side to side. “And I still am.”

“You need to come back to the motel,” Dean ordered. “I don’t like you out by yourself. Alone. At a bar.”

“I’m not alone,” you told him. “Later, Dean.” You disconnected the call, cutting off Dean’s protests. To avoid any further interruptions, you powered down your phone and shoved it back in your pocket.

Jesus, Dean was being annoying. And demanding. He wasn’t even interested in you, not in the way you were interested in him. It wasn’t like he would care if you took cute bar guy back to your room.

And that thought is what pushed you to make the decision you did. You took Clark Kent’s hand and tugged him towards the door, dropping some cash on the table and grabbing your jacket out of the booth. The smile on your soon-to-be hook up’s face was enough to make you think you’d made the right decision.

Cute bar guy had a car, a Honda something or other. He pressed you against it, his body soft and yielding, as he kissed you, then he opened the door for you. Once he was in the driver’s seat, you gave him your motel’s address. He took your hand, holding it as he drove. You stared out the window, wishing the sound of the car’s engine was a deep rumble instead of a quiet purr, or that the hand holding yours was rough and calloused instead of tender and smooth.

You pushed those thoughts out of your head as Clark Kent parked his car in front of your motel, just two spaces away from Dean’s Impala. If you kept thinking about Dean or wishing this was Dean, you might change your mind.

“Nice car,” he whistled as he climbed from his car, eyeballing the black beauty.

“Yeah, whatever,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward your room. You unlocked the door and yanked him inside. He stumbled past you, laughing. As you pushed your door shut, you could have sworn you saw a dark blond head peeking out of the door to the room next to yours and heard a gruff voice growling your name.

* * *

You came awake slowly, squinting due to the early morning light streaming through the window. Your mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and your head felt like someone was pounding on it with a sledgehammer. You stretched and your hand hit a warm body. You sat up, leaning on your elbows as cute bar guy smiled at you, his hair short hair sticking up in spikes all over his head. You'd almost forgotten he was there.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi yourself,” you answered.

The evening had gone well; the sex had been decent - though not mind blowing like you'd hoped - and overall you had enjoyed yourself, enough to invite him to stay the night. Of course, the mornings were always awkward, especially when you knew that this had been nothing more than a casual hookup that would never amount to anything more. The two of you spent a few minutes making small talk until he pointedly looked at his watch.

"I should probably go," he said. "I have to work in a couple of hours. Look, this was great, but I get the distinct impression that you're just passing through." He gestured at your clothes spilling from your suitcase and laughed. "So how about we say  we had fun, let's do it again sometime, blah, blah, blah and call it good? No pressure."

"That's perfect," you said as you climbed off the bed with the sheet wrapped around you. You leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll disappear into the bathroom long enough for you to make your escape."

He chuckled. "Sounds like a plan," he said. "And Y/N? I hope I helped you forget whoever it is you're trying to forget. For a little while anyway."

You smiled nervously at him as you ducked into the bathroom and pushed the door closed. It scared you a little bit that you'd been that obvious. You did tend to wear your heart on your sleeve, but you'd thought you had your feelings for Dean locked down pretty well. If some guy you picked up in a bar could see it, did that mean Dean could too?

You took a quick shower and brushed your teeth, figuring that by the time you got done, Clark Kent would be gone. You wrapped the towel around yourself and picked up the sheet you’d been wearing from the floor. You’d been in here at least fifteen minutes, maybe more, so cute bar guy should have made his escape by now.

You pulled open the bathroom door and stepped out, only to see Dean sitting at the tiny kitchenette table, arms crossed, staring at you with the most pissed off expression on his face that you had ever seen. Startled, you dropped the sheet to the ground, your arms immediately flying up to cross defensively in front of yourself, a tight grip on the towel.

“Dean, what the...?” you shouted. “How the hell did you get in here?”

Dean leaned forward slowly, staring at you, his eyes traveling up and down your body. Self-conscious, you pulled the towel tighter around yourself. He put his elbows on his knees, his fists clenched.

“You turned off your phone,” he said, his tone accusatory. He pointed to your cell phone sitting next to his elbow on the table. “I came over here to check on you. I saw that guy leaving your room.”

“Yeah, so?” you asked quietly.

Dean slammed his fist on the table as he stood up. “Don’t be coy, Y/N,” he snarled. “What the hell was he doing here?” When you didn’t answer right away, he took two steps closer to you. “Did you sleep with him?”

“Maybe I did,” you answered. “Why do you care?”

“Why do I care?” he asked. “Because I don’t want….” He stopped himself, his mouth snapping shut. His fists were still clenched at his sides and his eyes flashed in anger.

“You don’t want what, Dean?” you asked, taking a step closer to the hunter. His anger filled the room, tangible, so thick it felt like you could touch it. But there was something else there, too, something you couldn't describe. You waited, wondering what his answer would be.

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his muscled chest rising and falling slowly. His jaw clenched as he brought his arms up and ran his hands over the back of his neck. He opened his eyes, his green ones staring into your (y/e/c) ones and then he was across the room, grabbing you by the upper arms, pushing you into the wall by the bathroom door, his face inches from yours.

“I don’t want anyone else touching you, ever,” he whispered, holding your chin in his hand as he brushed his lips across yours, just enough to set your skin on fire. “I don’t like it. It makes me jealous. Unbelievably jealous.” He kissed you, harder this time.

You gasped, the sharp intake of breath the only sound in the room. Dean quirked an eyebrow at you, a pleased smile on his face. He leaned over you and you were suddenly surrounded by the scent of Dean - his Old Spice deodorant, the mint gum he always chewed, leather and gunpowder - and then he was kissing you, his tongue licking across your lips, begging to be let in. You opened your mouth and suddenly, his tongue was in your mouth, exploring, probing, tasting you. You whimpered and it must have spurred him on, because the next thing you knew, he had his hand fisted in the thin motel towel at your waist and it was the only thing between your naked body and Dean Winchester.

He pressed his body against yours and it was oh-so different than cute bar guy. Dean was hard and muscled, solid. You released the death grip you had on your towel, letting your arms snake around his back, running your hands up and down the well-defined muscles under his thin t-shirt.

Dean growled and with one tug, the towel was gone. His rough, calloused hands touched your naked skin, seemingly everywhere at once.

“Nobody else touches you, Y/N. Nobody,” he mumbled. “I’m the only one who should be touching you.” His thumb skimmed across your nipple as his other hand slid down your waist until his fingers were just barely hovering over your now wet core. He kissed you, hard and demanding. He lightly pressed his palm against your clit and you arched into him, moaning.

“Do you understand, Y/N?” Dean asked, pressing harder. “You’re mine.”

Your hips bucked against his hand, an obscene sound leaving your mouth. You nodded, unable to speak.

“Good,” he growled, his hands no longer touching you. You groaned in frustration. He put one hand on either side of your head and stared into your eyes.  “I’m not very nice when I’m jealous,” he smirked. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then turned abruptly and left the room.

You sagged against the wall, barely able to hold yourself up, watching Dean walk away. If that was jealous, well, he was wrong. You did like it.

 

 


End file.
